


Lost Things

by faeleverte



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, now it's just a ficlet with a bit of porn, probably a bit of sacrilege, scene that didn't fit into anything else, was supposed to be a pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10720836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faeleverte/pseuds/faeleverte
Summary: Sometimes a little Belief can go a long way.





	Lost Things

“Stevie Stevie Steve Stevie…” 

Bucky chants the name over and over, running it through his mouth and fingers like he used to do his beads. He should probably feel guilty for even thinking in terms like that at a time like this, but most of his Catholic self-abasement wore off somewhere in the war. Watching boys– barely more than children, most of them– die in an instant from the explosives, watching them linger for days and weeks in body-mangled pain rubbed off most of it. What kind of God would let such innocence die in such a way? Bucky’s ability to be religious died forever about the time he lost his arm and his humanity in one fell swoop. 

Stevie never gave it up, though. He just kept wearing his St. Michael necklace with his tags, often holding it in one hand and his rosary in the other while he knelt beside broken bodies and prayed for their souls. Bucky’s pretty certain that Steve’s greatest regret at giving up the shield is losing his reason to go sit at bedsides in hospitals (especially military and children’s hospitals) to pray for people. 

Bucky forgets religion and prayers as Steve writhes in the air above him, enormous chest thrusting forward and up with the curve of his spine as he rocks down onto Bucky’s hips. He’s more beautiful like this than anything Bucky’s ever seen. Well, with the possible exception of Steve lying below Bucky, gazing up with adoration in his too-large eyes and the flush staining all the way down his skinny chest and concave belly to the sharp points of his hips. They used to (and usually) do things the other way around, but sometimes all Bucky wants is to make Steve take it, turn his too-full brain off and force him to live in his skin. It was hard to do when Steve was tiny and angry, and it’s even harder now that Steve is big and angrier. 

Bucky always did love a challenge, though. He grips harder onto Steve’s hip with his one hand and wishes he had another to stroke all over that golden skin.

“God, Buck!” Steve undulates like a stripper, and reaches up with both hands to toy with his own nipples. Bucky bites his lip, determined not to come yet. Not until Steve does. 

They haven’t been back to this for long, and they never have a lot of time together before one of them needs to go again. Steve will take off to save the world or a hidden teammate; Bucky will go back on the run. Cryostorage hadn’t been the answer Bucky needed. He’d wished so hard that he could just stay there until his brain could be his own again, but Steve’s face the first time Buck came back out had broken him. _Steve_ couldn’t cope with Bucky being under, so Bucky had again taken to the life of a no one. Living on what little cash he could scrounge or beg, sleeping in whatever weekly place he could find. The worst part about it was knowing that Steve was doing the same. Maybe if they could have stayed together…

“Gimme your hand, Buck.” Steve’s fingers twitch like he wants to touch himself, but he won’t. He never will. Never did, either, when they were just a couple of kids messing around. It’s probably more of that Good Catholic repression. Odd that it won’t go far enough to keep Steve from fucking or being fucked by a man, but it will keep his hands off his own junk. Bucky wonders again if Steve was different with Peggy. If Steve ever got with Peggy. God knows, Bucky wasn’t with Steve during the war. That would have been too dangerous. Someone could have found out, or, worse, they could have gotten too wrapped up in each other to do what needed to be done. They were painfully codependent enough without orgasms and romance and whatnot. 

Bucky closes his fingers around Steve’s drooling prick and presses his heels into the bed, giving himself more leverage to fuck up into Steve’s super-heated body. He’s so damned _tight_ , no matter how often they do this. Bucky could finish Steve off, catch his breath and get ready to go back in, and he’d have to finger Steve’s ass open all over again. Bucky’s body has never had that problem: little splash of slick, and he’s ready and raring to go. Probably why Bucky is usually the one taking it.

Steve’s breath snags, and he whispers out a sound of surprise, still moving steadily as he begins to spray hot streaks across Bucky’s chest. Bucky sucks in air and lets go just as silently. They’d learned to be quiet as teens and young men, and they’d neither one unlearned it along the way. Just as well. Two men shouting with the volume either of them _could_ would probably get the police called on them by the manager of the cheap little motel. That would be the _last_ thing either of them needs.

Afterward, long afterward, when the sky is just brightening beyond the edge of the curtains, Steve sits up to dig around in his knapsack. Bucky keeps sucking on a cigarette– he’s been chain-smoking for a couple hours, lighting each new one off the butt of the previous while they talked– watching Steve’s beautiful back bend and flex. He tucks his smoke between his lips and reaches up to cup Steve’s perfect ass with the palm of his one hand. 

“Hey! Stop that!” Steve whips around looking surprised and shyly pleased. “This is _not_ the time.”

Bucky pulls the cigarette back out of his mouth and blows out a lazy stream of smoke.

“You’re naked, I’m naked, we’re both in bed.” He shrugs and gestures at the rumpled state of the covers. “What time could be better.”

“After I give you your present.” Steve holds out a small black cardboard box. 

Bucky takes it between his thumb and ring finger since his index and middle are busy with his cig, and sets it down on his own chest to lift off the lid. Inside is a slim silver chain with an oval pendant. Bucky hooks his finger through the chain, lifting it out so he can read the inscription encircling a haloed man holding a baby.

_St. Anthony Pray For Us_

“Patron saint of lost things?” Bucky rolls over to stub out his cigarette and then rolls back to cup Steve’s cheek with his hand.

“You’ve...you’ve been lost, Buck. For so, so long.” Steve glances away, his long eyelashes sweeping across his eyes in the way that has made Bucky’s breath catch since they were about fourteen years old. “And you’ve already lost so much. You’ve lost...you’ve lost everything. I thought maybe he could...maybe he would help you. Help you find things. Your life. Your faith. Your memories. Me…”

“Don’t need him for that last one, Stevie.” Bucky tugs gently until Steve leans forward to kiss him. “Already got that miracle. Feels greedy to ask for anything more.”

Steve smiles at him, a little crooked, a little damp, but real. “Then I’ll ask for you.” He kisses Bucky again. “I don’t mind being greedy for you. You should get everything good in the world.”

Bucky kisses him once more and then closes his fist around the pendant and closes his eyes.

“Blessed be God in his Angels and in his Saints,” he says softly. “Ah...Oh Holy St. Anthony, your– No. Oh Holy St. Anthony, gentlest of Saints, for, um. Your love for God and Charity for His creatures made you worthy to possess–”

“Made you worthy, when on earth,” Steve interjects in a thick voice.

“Your love for God and Charity for His creatures made you worthy, when on earth, to possess miraculous powers. Encouraged–”

“Miracles waited on your word, which you were ever ready to speak for those in trouble or anxiety,” Steve interrupts again.

“Yeah, that.” Bucky says. He figures that, if St. Anthony is so gentle and all, he won’t mind a little screw-up. “Encouraged by this thought, I implore you to obtain for me my lost damn mind–”

“Don’t swear when you’re praying, Buck.”

“Sorry.” Bucky says to Steve. And then, “Sorry, St. Anthony.” 

Bucky takes another deep breath and digs back into his childhood memories. “I implore you to obtain for me my lost mind. It’ll...it needs a miracle.”

Steve snorts, and Bucky knows he’s forgotten more words. Well, his catechism was learned an awfully long time ago. Bucky figures God and Anthony understand.

“O gently and loving St. Anthony, whose heart…” He trails off, lost again.

“Whose heart was ever full of human sympathy,” Steve prompts.

“Whose heart was ever full of human sympathy, whisper my petition into the ears of the Sweet Infant Jesus–” Bucky opens his eyes and squints at Steve. “Do you think this is the right kind of prayer for the Baby?”

“Buck,” Steve says, patting Bucky’s chest with a heavy hand, “I’m quite certain no prayer from you is appropriate for the Infant Jesus. But I’m pretty sure He knows that already. Keep going.”

Bucky scrolls back in his mind to where he’d left off. 

“Whisper my petition into the ear of the Sweet Infant Jesus…”

“Who loved to be folded in your arms.” Steve sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, but Bucky’s too close to the end of the prayer to check.

“And the gratitude of my heart will forever be yours.” Bucky opens his eyes and smiles at Steve. “Happy now, ya mook?”

“I might be happier if you hadn’t _prayed_ while lying naked in bed with me.” Steve’s eyes are bright and shining. “But it’s...it’s good to hear.”

Bucky hands the necklace to Steve and sits up so it can be fastened around his neck. Steve kisses the back of Bucky’s neck when he holds his hair up, and Bucky feels another of those electric tingles through his body.

“Got time for another?” he asks as he rolls into Steve’s arms. 

“Prayer or sin?” Steve replies, laughing softly.

“Ain’t no sin here,” Bucky tells him, sliding his leg over Steve’s hip. “St. Anthony already brought me the lost thing that hurt the most to lose. Can’t believe taking advantage of that is a sin.”

Steve shakes his head, flushing a little at Bucky’s sacrilege, and Bucky laughs and kisses him again. He hadn’t meant it that way; he’s pretty damn sure Steve coming back to him is the kind of miracle that’d needed all the Saints together to pull off. In his mind, he whispers a quiet prayer of thanks, and then he turns away from all matters heavenly to wrap himself in the joy and comfort of the flesh.

**Author's Note:**

> I ficlet-ed. No one is more surprised than I am. Check it out, under 2000 words and all!


End file.
